Watch The Discarded Villainess Shine Now

Sloane gasped for air.

Her lungs expanded violently, pulling in oxygen as if she had been drowning for hours. Her consciousness slammed into the foreign body with the force of a freight train.

A sharp, blinding pain throbbed behind her temples. Memories that didn't belong to her-pathetic, weeping, desperate memories-flooded her brain, making her stomach churn with sudden nausea.

She blinked, her vision clearing to reveal the sprawling, sterile living room of a penthouse apartment.

Axel Price stood directly over her.

His tailored Italian wool suit was immaculate, hugging his broad shoulders perfectly. His jaw was clenched tight, and his face was twisted into a mask of absolute, unfiltered disgust.

He raised his hand and slammed a thick stack of glossy paparazzi photos onto the glass coffee table.

The sharp smack of paper hitting glass echoed in the quiet room.

The photos scattered across the smooth surface. Sloane stared down at them. They showed the original host of this body, hiding in the damp bushes outside Axel's massive tech company headquarters, her face streaked with mascara, looking like a stalker.

Axel crossed his arms over his chest, the fabric of his suit pulling taut.

"I want a public apology drafted by tomorrow morning," Axel demanded, his voice cold and dripping with condescension. "You are embarrassing my corporate image, Sloane. This pathetic obsession ends now."

Sloane blinked slowly.

The throbbing in her head began to subside, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. She processed the foreign memories, the names, the setting. She had transmigrated. She was trapped inside the body of a trashy novel's ultimate villainess-a woman who had destroyed her own life chasing a man who despised her.

A dark, slow smirk crawled onto Sloane's face.

She felt the corners of her mouth lift, the muscles in her cheeks pulling into an expression the original host had never worn. She accepted the villainess identity instantly. It fit her like a glove.

Axel frowned, his perfectly groomed eyebrows pulling together. He mistook her silence for submission.

"If you don't release the statement," Axel threatened, leaning closer, "I will have my PR team release a statement of our own. I will destroy your career. You won't book a single commercial in this town again."

Sloane pushed herself off the leather sofa.

Her posture shifted completely. The meek, hunched shoulders of the original host vanished. She stood tall, her spine straight, her chin tilted up. She moved with a predatory, terrifying grace.

She took a deliberate step toward him, closing the distance between them.

Axel flinched slightly. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, genuinely confused by the sudden, chilling lack of desperation in her gaze.

Sloane raised her right hand.

Without breaking eye contact, she casually slapped the remaining stack of photos out of his grip.

The heavy, glossy paper fluttered through the air, raining down onto the expensive hardwood floor. The chaotic mess completely broke Axel's carefully constructed, untouchable CEO aura.

Before he could process the disrespect, she moved.

She grabbed the expensive, silk-lined lapels of his custom suit with both hands. Her knuckles turned white as she twisted the fabric, pulling him down slightly to her level.

"What the hell are you doing?" Axel shouted in sheer indignation.

He reached up, trying to pry her surprisingly strong fingers off his chest. His manicured hands clawed at her wrists, but her grip was like iron.

Sloane didn't waste breath on a reply.

She shifted her weight, pivoting on her heel, and executed a swift, brutal martial arts sweep kick directly into his ankle.

Bone cracked against bone.

Axel lost his balance instantly. His eyes went wide with shock as his center of gravity vanished. He stumbled backward, his arms waving clumsily in the air like a toddler learning to walk.

Sloane didn't let him recover.

She shoved him hard, her palms slamming into his chest, propelling him toward the apartment's heavy oak front door.

He hit the solid wood with a loud, sickening thud.

Axel groaned, his face contorting in pain as his right shoulder took the brunt of the impact. He slid down the wood slightly, gasping for breath.

Sloane stepped forward, her face completely blank.

She reached past him, her hand gripping the cold metal of the deadbolt. She twisted it sharply and ripped the heavy door open, exposing the brightly lit, carpeted hallway of the penthouse floor.

She gripped his collar again, her fingers digging into his neck.

With a surge of chaotic, unhinged energy, she physically hurled his heavy frame over the threshold.

Axel tripped over the brass doorframe. He fell hard onto his hands and knees, the expensive fabric of his trousers scraping against the hallway carpet.

Sloane looked down. Near her entryway mat lay a stray, glittering crystal stiletto heel.

She didn't think. She just acted.

She kicked the heavy, pointed shoe out the door with all her might.

The stiletto flew over Axel's head like a guided missile.

At that exact moment, the elevator doors down the hall chimed open. A tall, broad-shouldered passerby stepped out, his head lowered, wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

The flying crystal heel slammed directly into the stranger's broad shoulder.

The passerby halted in his tracks. The heavy shoe clattered loudly onto the floor. He didn't rub his shoulder. He just stood there, his face completely obscured by the shadow of the cap.

Axel scrambled to his feet.

His face was beet red, a vein pulsing visibly in his forehead. His suit was wrinkled, his hair a mess. He opened his mouth, drawing in a breath to scream a string of vicious threats.

Sloane raised her hand.

She flipped him the middle finger with a perfectly deadpan expression.

Before the first syllable could leave his mouth, she slammed the heavy oak door shut right in his face. The loud boom echoed through her apartment, followed by the sharp click of the deadbolt locking into place.